"That... does seem to follow, logically," he admits, slowly, like he's thinking it out. His free hand drifts to rest on his hip, while he taps a couple fingers on the bone on his hand. A deliberate thoughtful pose, more than half for show to convince Sans to keep peacefully talking while Papyrus starts something.

He remembers being possessed, and this isn't like that. That was his body, moving without him, even as he saw and heard and felt what happened with it. Emotions welling up in reaction to strange things, welling up in strange ways. The immediate certainty that the skeleton - the angel - could wreck him, and needed to be taken out. That kind of thing.

Right now, in contrast, is just him, with his new certainties and mission. Plus, pangs of fresh pain, seeing his brother now. So wary and alert, tragically clinging to the barbs of life... If only Sans hadn't taken on the pains and responsibilities with the carnival, if he had just kept hiding from life, in jokes and pranks and sleeping it away... Wouldn't it be easier now?

"That's how new magic works? Anything we learned from the Ringmaster, it's... in us? And could mess with our heads?" Papyrus asks, doing his best to sound confused, curious, as he stops tapping on the bone, and rubs a finger back and forth on it. With a push of the void's powers the bone softens, and the friction lets loose a slight cloud of dust. In this strangely floaty place... The dust should float, and carry with it a sense of peaceful tired contentment.